


Hero

by lunick



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: M/M, character angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunick/pseuds/lunick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tajima always had to go and be the big damn hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

"Why'd you have to go and be the big damn hero, Tajima?"

Hanai shuffles his feet against the linoleum.

Tajima must've known the consequences, the potential outcome of what he was doing. The consequences for everything he's ever done must have been carefully tucked away in his mind, but the pros always outweighed the cons, no matter the situation. He would skid on wet, red mud to get home and he would faceplant right into the dirt to make a catch, and he would raise his mitt up to show that he caught it.

Azusa, did you see it?

It hurt, but it was totally worth it, Azusa!

"Why'd you have to do that for me?"

Azusa, let me help you!

Do it like this, okay?

Tajima was always doing things for Hanai. Showing him how to be a better baseball player, forming a battery with him during practice, buying him things and showing up at all hours of class to deliver them. Always taking blame and being the emotional punching bag for the right fielder. Kissing it better, and taking his hands and grinning and laughing and letting his nose crinkle up and praising him at all the right times.  


He always knew what to do, it seemed. He read Hanai's mood, and he could give him just what he needed. He could wrap his arms around the captain's neck to make his anger fade, and he could push himself up on his tip toes to kiss him by the temple (but not on the temple, because he couldn't quite reach) to make him stop stressing out. He could jump up onto his back to help him loosen up and celebrate that he got the big hit they needed.  


He could curl up his body and work his way into all the crevices of Hanai's torso, filling in all the cracks and the cold, saying all the right things to get him to stop shaking from a nightmare.

Don't worry, Azusa. I'm here.

But he's not here anymore, and Hanai feels like this nightmare will never actually end unless the clean up just wakes up. Unless he's okay.

It's okay, Azusa, he can imagine Tajima saying. It was just a dream.

"Why did you go and get yourself hurt, you big idiot..."

His voice catches on the word idiot -- he doesn't mean that, obviously. Well, maybe he does a little bit, but he knows his anger is misplaced. He's angry at himself, just like he always has been -- always misdirecting his anger at himself towards Abe, or Mihashi, or, usually, Tajima. And he always took it too. He never cried or got angry in return. At most he gave Hanai an indignant glare and maybe tossed an insult in return, but usually he was still all smiles. He would just laugh and crinkle up his nose, because he knew that the captain wasn't really angry.

He was never really angry at Tajima. Maybe annoyed at the worst of times, when the clean up would crawl all over him or jump up onto his back without permission or slide over onto his side of the mattress and press his head into the crook of Hanai's neck, but even that irritation dissipated quickly. Because it was Tajima, and everything he did was so damn earnest and for good reason, and when he was asked why the hell he was wrapping himself all over Hanai, he would just laugh and say all the right things again.

It's cold, captain!

Because I like you, Azusa.

"Why won't you wake up, Tajima?"

Hanai pauses for just a moment here, listening to the quiet, steady beeping of the heart rate monitor.

"Yuuichirou."

Call me Yuuichirou, okay? Then it's even. Now you can't get mad at me for calling you Azusa!

Even when saying something so simple, he would be moving. Tapping his foot, shifting his arms behind his tilted head, pointing a finger at Hanai. He was always moving around because he had to get his energy out somehow.

"Yuuichirou, why won't you wake up?"

Why won't you move? Just a little bit. Just a finger, just move your head, just smile -- please just smile. Hanai can't bring himself to say any of those things. He can't bring himself to say much more because the little lump that wedged itself in his throat when he walked into the room has only gotten bigger, and he almost feels like he can't even breathe anymore, and his eyes sting too much.

It must be something about the air in here. Yeah, it's too cold, and too dry, with the air conditioner running at full blast to counteract the thick summer heat. Tajima never liked the cold, he would always complain. Azusa, it's too cold here! Azusa, let's go somewhere else.

Azusa, hold my hand, I'm cold.

Hanai could almost hear Tajima saying it, his voice sleep weary and heavy, like when they both woke up in the middle of the night at his house, bundled under blankets to combat the cold. Despite all the blankets, and the closeness, Tajima would always tell him to hold his hand in those moments when he was in that place between sleep and awake.

But he could only almost hear it, because the third baseman was still asleep, unmoving, needles and tubes poking into his arm, a cast around his other arm, bandages wrapped around his head. Head trauma, the doctors said, and a couple broken ribs.

The head injury was the worst of it.

If he ever woke up, he wouldn't be able to do much of anything. He wouldn't be totally incapacitated but close to it.

You were lucky that he was there to save you, the doctors said.

Hanai doesn't feel lucky at all. He feels hopeless, and scared to death, and like he just wants this hole where his heart should be to close up, and like he really wants to stop trembling so much, even as he holds Tajima's hand.

"Please wake up."

His voice is cracking, and it's embarrassing, and he's pressing his eyes shut to keep the tears from squeezing out. He rubs his eyes, because Tajima hasn't woken up yet and it's already been a week, and he can hear the doctors talking outside the door, and he's starting to realize that he might lose one of the most important people in his life right now. He bites on his bottom lip, trembling fingers wrapping themselves tighter against Tajima's hand.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry, for everything I've ever done, for what this has done to you. I'm sorry I wasn't a better teammate, or captain, or friend or best friend or even boyfriend, or whatever the hell it was that they were. I'm sorry I never told you how I felt, and I made you do all the work, and I'm sorry for stepping in front of that car and making you push me out of the way.

"Please just wake up."

I just want to see your smile again. I just want to hear your voice again.

"I love you--"

The steady, slow beep of the heart monitor suddenly changes, turning into a continuous wail, the previously moving line going flat across the screen. The doctors idling around the doorway rush in, telling Hanai to move out of the way -- a crash cart comes in, and they push him out, and he's forced to watch through the glass as doctors and nurses desperately try to get that line to move again, to get the monitor to beep again, to just make Tajima breathe again.

But they can't -- they aren't heroes.

They can't save the life that was lost the second Hanai stepped into the street. They can't save the hero.

Hanai slides his hand down the glass, leaving five smeary lines.

He just had to go and be the big damn hero.

Just like he always had.


End file.
